


Two Days Nearer Death

by Medie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Multi, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), also I love everybody in this bar except ross and zemo because they're dicks, because yes I am, the author works out feelings through fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross comes for Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> apparently the solution to not finding the post-cacw fic you want is to try and write it yourself. fic's semi-inspired by [this prompt](http://illbetherestonyfest.tumblr.com/post/145698708629/tony-is-incarcerated-in-the-raft#notes). Title comes from 'The Chemical Worker's Song' (specific version being the Great Big Sea cover [you can hear it here. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edAxujKev1I)

He's out of time. 

It's not that he didn't see it coming. He did. With all the practice he's had these past few years, he's becoming something of an expert in worst case scenarios. He might not see the details with any kind of clarity, but you don't need the raindrops to see the storm. 

"Boss."

Friday's voice is just this side of frantic (when had she learned _that_?), but just. "I know, kiddo," he soothes, continuing to type without so much as a glance toward the door. "The villagers are at the gates and they brought their sunday-go-meetin' pitchforks."

Golly gee.

Good thing, then, that he's a genius and a genius with some friends left. The plan's ready and Fry'll can see it through to the end; no matter what else might come to pass.

"Shut down the defenses and let 'em in." She'll lock everything down just as soon as they take him out anyway. Enough innocent blood's been shed over this. Not a chance in hell he lets Ross and his flying monkeys at the stuff he's got locked downstairs. Not a chance in hell Ross gets _any of it_. "Ready."

"Speak for yourself," Friday sighs. "I don't know about this, Boss."

"You'll be fine," he says, wondering if he's imagining the sound of combat boots in the stairwell. "Just follow the plan and do what I told you. You've got this, kid."

It's probably bad that he's so calm about this, but whatever. Rhodey and Vision are safe at the compound, Pepper's currently in Malibu with all the deniability an ex-girlfriend and current CEO could ask for, and everyone else...

Well, for them, Fry's got a list.

Not much else he can do now, but wait...and almost wish he were the kind of man that prayed because this is going to suck.

*

He's halfway to the lobby, a black hood over his head, when he hears the faint sound of alarms beneath his feet. They didn't wait to try and get in the lab then. He grins to himself when the shouting gets just a little frantic.

They're too late, anyway. Friday's got the suits, the data, it's all gone and safe in her invisible hands.

If there's one thing Tony's sure about it's that the women in his life have always been the ones with their shit together.

*

They'd better be. He's banking everything on them.

*

She wakes up to a polite knock at the door. A polite knock with a faintly metallic, very familiar ring. It's not the first time Sharon's woken up to one of Tony's suits at her door. It's not even the single digits, to be honest, she's lost track beyond that though the time he'd sent one for her birthday and nearly blown her cover with Steve stands out as memorable.

Rolling out of bed, she grabs a gun as she goes, just in case. Tony keeps absolutely godawful hours, but even he knows better to send them to her door at this hour of the night.

There's absolutely no chance that this one's here to party.

When she opens the door it's to the sensation of panic in her chest. It's the most recent suit. His best one. "Good evening, Agent Thirteen," Friday says, soft and, to Sharon's ears, scared.

Oh god. "Good evening, Friday," she says, lowering the gun. She steps back to let the suit into the room. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"I do not believe so," Friday says, and then it's Tony's voice she hears. It's a recording, tinny and echoing, but the tension is unmistakable. "Okay, Pipsqueak, you've already guessed that this visit isn't for funsies. Ross figured out about my little Siberian side-trip."

Sharon drops onto the sofa. She has the presence of mind to keep hold of the gun when she does, but it's a near thing. Ross knows. Ross _knows_.

"Good news is that he thinks the Raft was also me. Bad news is that he's apparently taking it personal." Tony sighs and Sharon goes from scared to terrified. "His goon squad's on the way up so by the time you get this, I'll probably be enjoying the general's hospitality at the black site of his choice and it has to stay that way for the foreseeable future. I know what you're thinking, Pipsqueak, but don't. Right now, the son of a bitch thinks that you're a good little soldier and I'd like him to keep right on believing that. The last thing I need is Aunt Peggy rising from the grave to kick my ass for dragging you into this."

Sharon throws a pillow at the suit. "What about dragging yourself into it, moron?" God forbid he actually care about himself for once. Aunt Peggy will haunt her until the end of time if she even _thinks_ of abandoning Tony to his own goddamn martyr complex.

His getting back from Siberia on his own was bad enough, but _this_?

"...anyway, by now you're probably done swearing at me," Tony says, smart-ass to the end. "The Tower and the Compound are locked down to anybody but authorized personnel only, not that there's much left there to find. Friday's got the suits and my data. She'll keep those out of Ross's hands while you, Rhodey, and Vision play nice for a while. I'm not in any hurry for roomies."

He pauses and she can almost pretend he's really in that suit. Almost. Her brain's already running through the scenarios of what Ross will do to him and every one is worse than the last.

"Don't worry, Pipsqueak, I'm not throwing myself on any swords yet, but I'm not willing to risk any of you yet and that includes Pepper. Don't breathe a word of this to her, okay? Stall. Dance. Do whatever you need to do to keep her from finding out a damn thing. The less she knows, the less a subcommittee can grill her about."

The suit edges closer to her, bending over, and Sharon raises an eyebrow. "I swear to God, Tony, if yo--" which is wasted breath because even as she speaks, the suit curls up fingers and gives her the gentlest of noogies. "Stay safe, Pipsqueak. Please?"

Sharon absolutely doesn't sob. She does _not_.

What she does is get off the sofa. She hasn't listened to a thing Tony Stark's told her to do in her life and there's absolutely zero chance that she's going to start now.

"Unless he says something useful, Friday, kill the replay, I want to talk to you."

One of the perks of growing up as Tony's de facto bratty baby cousin is the personalized gear. It's been a while since she's had a mission where she could actually use it and, _god_ , she's missed wearing it.

"With pleasure, Agent 13," Friday replies. "Am I to assume you intend on ignoring Boss's instructions?"

Sharon holsters her gun and grins. "My answer depends on what he told you to do if I say yes."

Friday sounds downright angelic when she says, "I'm afraid my audio sensors experienced some interference at that particular moment, but I believe Boss told me to render all assistance possible within the parameters of my current mission."

"Keeping Tony's toys out of Ross's hands?"

"Not precisely how Boss phrased it, but yes."

Sharon snickers. God, she'd pay money to hear what he _had_ said. She'll have to ask him first chance she gets. "Good. We can work with that. Has he told you about the Midnight Bark Protocol?"

Friday sounds imminently satisfied when she says, "Activating now."

*

The last thing anyone expects to hear as they sit down to breakfast is the sound of Tony Stark's AI.

And yet... Friday's voice fills the air just as Steve's reaching for the juice. 

"Excuse me, Captain Rogers, but if I may interrupt your morning, I have a message for you."

Across from Steve, Clint's face has gone hard and angry. His hand flexes on the table with the urge for a weapon he hasn't touched in weeks. Steve understands.

Sam and Scott both get up, circling the room to head for the windows, looking for the Iron Legion. By now, Tony's probably got it back to full strength. Steve can't imagine he had any other choice without the Avengers and that isn't a thought that'll ever sit easy.

He gives it a ten count then looks to them and both shake their heads. It should be confusing, but instead a lump of apprehension settles into his stomach like lead.

Why hadn't Tony called himself?

"Captain?" Friday's prompting voice draws him away from the niggling fear. "I'm afraid I don't have much time. The Wakandan Security Forces have already detected my presence. They seem most...annoyed."

Clint shakes his head, but Steve needs to know. If Tony's reaching out this way, whatever it is, he needs to know. "What is it?"

"The Boss was taken last night and Agent 13 has activated the Midnight Bark protocol. All available assistance is required."

Steve flinches. Tony's been taken. He remembers his promise and closes his eyes. So much for always being there. "Taken? By who?"

"Secretary Ross arrested him for violations of the Accords; specifically Siberia and the Raft Extraction." Friday doesn't wait for him to react before adding, "Agent 13 has yet to find any official record of his arrest and believes that he has been taken to the Raft or another site similar in nature."

"And you expect us to, what, spring him?" Clint snorts a laugh. "Fat chance. I seem to remember him saying a whole lot about choices and consequences. Sounds to me like it's his turn at bat."

Wanda doesn't quite laugh at that, but the sound she makes is the closest to it that Steve's heard since they got her out of that goddamn collar. He looks at her, watches the hint of a smile, and it shouldn't feel reassuring to see her take some measure of pleasure out of this...

But it is.

"You are refusing, then, Captain?" Friday's voice frizzes in and out, static clouding her words. He can almost pretend he can't hear the shock and disappointment in her voice and since when did a computer's opinion cut like that?

He shakes his head. "It's--"

"Just desserts," Wanda says. "Perhaps makes me a monster to say so, but--"

"Human," Sam interrupts. "It makes you human. Stark fucked up. Maybe he didn't mean to, maybe there's a lot we're not seeing, but he fucked up and you paid for it. Seems to me being conflicted about this, even enjoying it a little, is a pretty damn human reaction to have."

She does smile at that. Relief, Steve thinks. He envies it. He's not sure he'll feel anything like it ever again. He certainly doesn't feel it now. There's a part of him, small and mean, that's enjoying this. The idea of Tony cooling his heels in a prison of his own making...yeah, there's something about that which, after everything, is far more satisfying than he's comfortable admitting, even to himself.

And yet he feels it, doesn't he?

"We're not refusing," he says, at last, "but it isn't as easy as jumping on a quinjet anymore. We need time to think. Time to plan." Time to figure out what the hell he's going to do and if any of them will even be willing to try. 

No one answers.

"Friday?"

"Guess the Wakandans finally caught up with her," Sam says, sitting down again. "Is it weird to be worried about a computer?"

Steve pictures Redwing. Tony had been so damn proud of that bot. 

"Hey," Clint says, interrupting the moment, like always. He pokes Steve with his foot and fakes a grin (badly) when Steve looks up. "You're not worried about him right? Stark did three months in a cave in Afghanistan. A couple weeks in the Raft will be like a trip to the beach for him. He'll be fine."

Steve doesn't know that he believes that, but this isn't the Avengers anymore. None of them are themselves anymore and he has no right to ask anything of them. He's not the man they followed. He thought he was okay with that. Thought he was okay with the fact they're not following him. 

But right now...

Right now, he doesn't know. 

"Yeah," he says, his smile wrong and awkward on his face. "He'll be fine."

So, why doesn't he believe that?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything old is new again or how everybody feels like Afghanistan all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so apparently the way to get long, _amazing_ commentary to a story is write one that's post civil war. You guys are seriously incredible and I'll do my best to get to all of them (but the chances of me being even half as insightful as you all have been I can make no promises on). 
> 
> So, fair warning, shameless abuse of comics and their stories will be found herein. (I am, it seems, utterly incapable of writing my own versions of the Legacies--Trip lives btw!--and also unable to sneak Alpha Flight into _everything_ MCU) and yes those are hints of poly Peggy/Sousa/Angie in there. I suspect the Carter-Martinelli-Sousa brood is _extensive_. 
> 
> Also, I'm trying _not_ to get too detailed into Tony's interrogation techniques, but if things do require a warning, I'll be sure to slap one up here in each chapter as needed. If, that is, one is needed.

The first few days pass in a haze of darkness, cold, and so much noise. At least, he thinks that it's a few days. 

Truth is, he's not really sure how long, but it doesn't matter. Time doesn't matter in a place like this. He should know. It's not that he can see much of the place inside a black hood, but it doesn't matter if the walls are metal or concrete; it's not that different from Afghanistan. 

If, that is, he ignores the gaping hole where Yinsen would be and he isn't. He really, really isn't. He's thought of the man almost constantly since this whole mess got started. Would he think this was a second chance wasted? Or...

Or is not a thought that he wants to spend much time on. Not with Ross and his people probably watching every goddamn second he's in this box and waiting for him to break. 

And that's not happening. He's fallen apart enough already and he is never, ever rolling over and showing his belly for someone like _Ross_. 

Instead, he turns his focus inward. He re-designs the suits, plans a remodel of Stark Tower, upgrades for the compound, and even gets a jump on that Potts Tower he's been promising Pepper for a few years. He thinks about anything but what he knows is coming. 

They started with the hood for a reason. They keep him in the hood for a reason. He's helpless to move without them helping and the stumbling trip from the tower to transport to wherever the hell he is now wasn't enough. Not for him. He understands their methods too well for the kindergarten stuff to work on him. 

Still, he knows they're laying the groundwork for whatever they're planning next. For now, with the hood, he has to rely on them to steer him along and feet dragging and tripping as he stumbles to keep up with them. It's familiar, but they're probably banking on that too. Familiar is enough to bring up Afghanistan to the point that when he is able to sleep, he dreams of the battery in his chest, the water shorting it out, and he wakes up retching. 

They come in from time to time. Some food. A little water. They don't want their star prisoner dying of malnutrition before they get to the good stuff after all.

No one speaks and that, as much as anything, tells him Ross isn't there. With all the bad blood between them, there's no chance that ol' Thunderbolt would be able to resist gloating and the fact he _isn't_ there is something that worries him. He tries not to let the idea that Ross might know the truth about Sharon settle into his brain. He reminds himself that he can't risk second-guessing, not now, not with Ross's people circling and waiting for him to break. 

But the thought is there and it hits him harder than the wild ride that brought him here. He can still feel the boots that had kicked him in the back of the van, knows there are probably bruises on his back and on his chest, and he tries to focus on that. If he can focus on that, if he can make himself live in the moments that brought him here, then maybe he can keep the panic attack at bay. 

He makes himself run through the details of the trip. He remembers the sudden, wild jerk of the van throwing him off balance. He remembers the feeling of the metal as his face struck it and hears the metallic clang. 

It doesn't dent the image of Sharon in a cell just like this one even a bit. Or Rhodey. Or Pepper. He scoots backward until he finds a wall, presses his head against it, closes his eyes and summons the memory of the combat boot against his back. His ribs still ache from the blow, the pressure is a phantom against his skin, but it's enough to keep the demons at bay.

At least for now. 

It's maybe a few days after that, he's not sure, that the music changes, gets louder, and, eh, at least their taste isn't terrible. He figures he has a day, maybe less, before they finally admit that this is practically his idea of a Sunday morning with the bots and move to step two.

Yes, even the handcuffs. It's a thing, okay?

He stretches out his legs, bends each joint, brings them back to tuck against his chest. It hurts, but it helps with the cold and it's a distraction. He knows Sharon is a hell of a kid. She can handle this. She can probably run circles around them all. She reminds him of Nat that way. 

God, Nat. 

He didn't handle that well with her. He knows that. He didn't handle a lot of things well. He's got a list. Friday's probably added a few things to it since he was taken. He doesn't regret the Accords or supporting them, but the rest of it? Yeah, he's got regrets.

He just hopes Natasha doesn't hear about this. The last thing he wants to do is put yet another friend in Ross's sights and she'd probably do something wild like try and rescue him. 

Not that he _minds_ the idea of being rescued, but he longer he holds out, the better chance he has of finding out what Ross _really_ wants.

Humiliation after Siberia and the Raft might've been the trigger, but it's not the endgame. There's a thousand and one ways that Ross could punish him that don't involve kidnapping and illegal detention. 

He repeats the process with his legs, stretches them out, moves, then rests his forehead on one, and tries to focus. Thinking's difficult with the cold and the hood and, dare he say it, the music pounding against his skull. 

"Not as young as you used to be, Tony," he mutters, then thinks better of it. Wherever they have him holed up, there's no chance he's not on video with audio sensitive enough to pick up everything from a whisper on up. 

"Sorry, Mr. Secretary," he calls out. His head's spinning and the music is wearing on him, but he manages to sound something approaching normal. Something approaching it. "I'm reliably informed I don't talk in my sleep. There is a debate over whether or not I snore, though, so at least there's that." The fabric of the hood's damp with his breath and it sticks to his lips as he talks. "I can try singing, but to be honest, Romanoff's had this Russian lullaby stuck in my head for _months_ now. Worst goddamn earworm in history." He tips his head, ignoring the way his stomach rebels, trying to hear beyond the music and the spinning between his ears.

There's nothing but the music and the need to yack over Ross's probably very shiny floors.

Tony sighs, deep and annoyed, then closes his eyes. 

"Okay, then, guess I'll sit right here and wait." 

It'll get worse, he knows that, but right now it feels like waiting is the worst torture of all. Which, odd are, Ross has figured out too. He's not stupid about this. He's trying to wait Ross out and Ross is doing the exact same thing to him.

Yeah. This is going to be _fun_.

*

The smell of coffee wakes her from sleep that's fitful at best. She doesn't remember when she fell asleep, just that she wakes up gritty-eyed and bleary. She's on her bed, sprawled out over the papers she'd been reading. She didn't make it under the covers this time and there's a page of a report stuck to her cheek. God, she's tired. She is so, so fucking tired. 

She pulls the paper from her face, drops it on the pile, and looks out at the weak morning light. This is all so goddamn familiar that she has the urge to punch something. The last time she did this was Afghanistan, but this time is worse. 

This time, she's cut off from nearly every resource she'd use to find him. For the second time, Tony's life is in her hands and they're _tied_. 

She can't risk reaching out to Friday, not yet, and her cover story of vague mentions of Hydra and connectors to Zemo is shaky at best. She'll have to be careful to keep the lie going and she needs to keep it going. Being shut out from Tony's systems means that she has to rely on work. There's no back up to help her sneak around the corners. Not with the kind of infrastructure she needs, anyway. "God, I never thought I'd miss Fury," she mutters, rubbing her face as she gets out of bed. She'd never get this past him, but that's the point. With him here this would be so much easier.

With him here it wouldn't have happened at all. 

And that's not a thought that'll help anybody. She's done this before. She's made a ridiculous lie into a believable truth and she'd done it for months, but there's that part of her that knows it's different. Lying to Steve had been different. 

It was a lie told in brief conversations with cues meant to unsettle Steve just enough to keep him at a distance. She'd been a virtual stranger that he'd never really met until she walked into her aunt's funeral. 

It's easier to sell a story when she's someone else, but this...this is terrifying. Ross is probably watching and he's not the only one. Somehow, she doesn't think she'll get time to explain to anyone what she's doing or why.

Somehow, she doesn't think that Ross will give her that chance.

She opens the bedroom door to the expected familiar face and her favorite mug full of steaming coffee. Sharon makes a noise that's almost words and grabs for it. When she's downed about half the mug, she feels something approaching human. "You broke into my apartment again."

"I did not," Libby sniffs. "Breaking is for amateurs. I am a professional. I entered, but I did not break."

" _Dugans_ ," Sharon mutters, passing her by in favor of the living room and her couch. "Do all of you use that line?"

"It's a family tradition," Libby sits down with her, pulling her legs into her lap. "Like the Carter tradition of moping combined with self-flagellation, but much less depressing." She pulls a face. "Can you _imagine_ what a mopey Dugan would look like?" 

"I am _not_ moping."

"Oh, but you are," Libby takes a danish from the box on the coffee table."It'd be pathetic if it weren't adorable." She rips the danish in two and hands a piece to Sharon. It's what passes for sympathy among Dugans. 

Sharon could _kiss her_. Relief has tears pricking at her eyes and she bites into the danish, chewing noisily to hide it. It takes her a minute or two to finish the thing and it's enough to get it under control. It's not that she doubted Friday would get the message our or that they'd come, but knowing and seeing them here... "Do you have any idea how good it is to see you?"

Libby tucks a curl behind her ear and grins, but Sharon can see the awareness in her gaze. Still, it's a relief when all she gets in response is a dryly spoken, "I'd answer that, but I don't think it's me that you're talking to." 

"You're right," Sharon agrees. "It's the coffee and the danish." She brings the mug up and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent. Right, so she might've forgotten to eat yesterday. She grabs another danish.

"I thought so," Libby squeezes her knee. "Swept the place while you were asleep and set up a couple jammers just in case. We should be good to talk."

Finishing off the danish, Sharon licks her fingers. "Not that we have anything good to tell each other or we would've said it by now." She knows she hasn't found Tony. She knows Libby hasn't or she would have led with it. "Okay, so we don't know where he is yet, but is there any new?"

"Nothing much, but yes. Friday rounded up pretty much everyone and the ones she couldn't we're working on," Libby leans her head back on the couch. "We've got some contacts in other governments that Falsworth's working on. Since everything blew up with the Avengers, the UN's been falling all over themselves to involve international teams. The Prime Minister's had our favourite Union Jack making all sorts of goodwill trips." She smirks. "So far all he's turned up is that the everyone hates Ross. Turns out that for a secretary of state, he's pretty much only popular with his own government."

"And not even there," Sharon hums, looking into her mug. "We can work with that..."

Libby squeezes her knee again. "I am not hearing the enthusiasm that you usually reserve for destroying power-hungry assholes and rescuing our favourite fair mechanic in in distress."

"I just keep thinking about Afghanistan." Sharon leans her head against the couch. She's looking at Libby, but all she can see is that day. If she closes her eyes she can still hear the sound of the loss and terror in Rhodey's voice."We had _every_ resource back then and it took months. He had to rescue _himself_. Now..."

"Now I'm kicking myself for not lojacking him when we took that damn reactor out," Libby sighs. "Goddamn medical ethics get in the way of everything."

Sharon gets coffee up her nose for that one and that's probably the whole point. She _is_ moping and that's not doing a damn thing to help Tony. She sputters, snorts, and fumbles for a tissue. "I cannot believe you just said that. You realize that's why Uncle Daniel instituted the Frankenstein rule, right?"

Libby wrinkles her nose. "I still can't believe Aunt Angie didn't win him over on that one. It's not like anyone would've _minded_ if me and Tony had made a zombie cyborg out of Thompson. He was practically a zombie when he was _alive_."

"To be fair, I think it's not so much that part that bothered Uncle Daniel," Sharon laughs. "I think it was more the idea of what you and Tony would do as a follow up that scared the hell out of him." And not just him. Sometimes, Libby and Tony working together means revolutionary medical tech. Others? Well, the others you'll find under the Frankenstein rule. 

Libby sighs and leans back against the arm of the couch. "God, I wish they were here." She laughs faintly. "We need a real adult to deal with this." 

"None of those left," Sharon sighs. "I _thought_ maybe Steve—"

The look that gets her is absolutely one hundred percent Dum Dum. "You have _got_ to be kidding me," Libby says. "Did you listen to _any_ of the stories growing up? Forget that. Did you not miss the part where he wrecked the goddamn Avengers? Rogers is a fucking menace." 

"It wasn't that simple, Libby," Sharon says, tired. "You know that."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't, maybe I'm too damn pissed off because the guy who's had our backs since fucking forever is _missing_ and I don't see any star-spangled assholes sitting here trying to figure it out." Libby's voice gets telltale thick at the end of that in a way that Sharon gets. This isn't how this was supposed to go.

"He'll be here," she says, reassuring herself as much as Libby. "From what Tony told me about Siberia—" 

"Fucking Siberia." Libby gusts out a sigh. "I'm sorry. I know there's no way he could've seen this coming, but, god, I am so pissed at him right now." She pushes a hand into her hair and looks at Sharon, looking as tired as Sharon feels. "Okay, maybe I'm pissed at all of us. I just keep thinking that if Aunt Peggy were here—we were supposed to look out for each other. How did we get this distant?"

'Life does that," Sharon says. "You drift apart then something goes to hell and everyone gets yanked back in. It's not that we aren't looking out for each other, Lib. It's that with our last names—life gets really goddamn complicated." 

Going into SHIELD was actually the easiest part of growing up Peggy Carter's niece. 

"Fuck, I hate being a grown-up." Libby bites her lip. "Tell me he's going to be okay?"

"Oh, he's going to be okay," Sharon can answer that one honestly. "He's Tony. He'll figure out a way to keep it together until we find him or he finds his own way home. He'll be _fine_." She really does believe that. She does. Tony has an ability to put himself back together no matter what. 

What worries her is what kind of hell he's going to have to go through in the meantime.

 

*

Libby is the first to check in, but not the last. Legacy after legacy passes through in the middle of the night with scraps of information and hints. She knows he was held for a few days at the Raft, then went dark. It's not much, but combined with a few other things, it's a start and enough to sit down with Rhodey.

Rhodey's already at the table when Sharon gets out of the car. He's tipped back in his chair, posing for a selfie with a kid who looks two seconds from tears. The little guy is wearing one of the September Foundation's charity tees—with Iron Man and War Machine in flight over the Manhattan skyline—and can barely hold still for the picture. 

Sharon loads up the parking meter while she watches the adorable scene, resisting the urge to look for any potential surveillance. It's a fine line she's walking right now and too much wariness might give away how much she really knows. 

She lets her gaze play over the crowd as she walks toward the table, reminding herself she's not without countermeasures. She's got the usuals stitched into her jacket, embedded in her jewellery, and a few backups in her shoulder bag, but that's hardly the end of it.. They'd expect her to be carrying something and Ross has just disappeared one of the most powerful men in the country. He's going to be extra special paranoid for a while and made all the more so by the fact Rhodey's got a few countermeasures of his own and _his_ were built by Tony.

So were hers, of course, but where Rhodey's concerned, Tony's always been extra special squirrelly.

Rhodey greats her with a warm, relaxed smile that he should get so much credit for. Especially when she leans down to hug him and feels the desperation in his grip. He's barely holding it together by that and she remembers those horrible days all those years ago, the phone calls late at night, when he was tearing through Afghanistan looking for Tony. 

Years of practice make holding back the sting of tears easier than it should be when she thinks of her own time pouring over mission reports, scans, and every shred of info a relatively new SHIELD agent shouldn't have had access to. 

She shakes off the thought and smiles at Rhodey. "I see you still have fans."

Rhodey grins and taps the braces on his legs. "We've got a couple things in common." His grin falters a bit when he adds, "He wants Tony to build him a pair just like mine." 

It's harder to hold back the pain at that thought. Tony would _love_ the idea. "You know he'd set up competing brands, right? Iron Man versus War Machine."

There's pain behind Rhodey's laugh and she presses her leg to his. It's not much, but it's something. "Anything yet?" 

The waiter approaches the table so she delays any answer until he's back inside the cafe and they're as alone as they're going to get. She puts her bag on the chair and reaches in for her phone. A flick and it's all the privacy Tony's tech can buy. "Nothing from Ross or the government. Officially, there's no sign of our mechanic." She looks around quickly before saying, "Unofficially, he was at the raft _briefly_ , but now? No idea. Wherever Ross is holding him, it's not a facility that has anything to do with the Accords."

"Damn it," Rhodey scowls. "We could've—"

"No," she shakes her head. "From what we've been able to gather, by the time we found out that he was even at the Raft, he was already gone. It makes sense. My guess is that Ross isn't sure how much Tony's told you and he's not going to take the risk." 

Rhodey leans on the table. "Speaking of risks, Pepper's started asking questions. Tony locked down things pretty good so she can't see the mess they left in the Tower, but even with the break-up they've still been talking. It's been too long and I stand zero chance of being able to bullshit her." 

Sharon shakes her head. "I wouldn't bother trying. She's running one of the most powerful corporations on the planet. We can use that kind of influence with some things." A couple sits down at the table closest to them and she leans her forearms on the table, pitching her voice at more intimate level. It's going to set the gossip sites raging, but it's worth the grief. "You remember Brian Falsworth, right? His grandfather was one of the Commandos and—" 

"Union Jack," Rhodey nods. 

"He's been recruiting help for us," Sharon rests her chin on her palm, smiling sunnily at him. She sees someone snap a picture with their phone. "Play nice for the nice people, Jim. I think they're hoping we're on a date."

Rhodey rolls his eyes, but leans closer. "When Tony threatens a shovel talk, you have to defend me." He pick up his phone and thumbs through to find the picture of him and the kid. "So, what did Brian turn up?"

"Back up. How much do you know about Alpha Flight?"

"Yeah, I know them," Rhodey says as Sharon takes the phone and grins at the picture. Okay, it's a prop to further the 'friends having a coffee date' alibi, but seriously that kid was cute. "Canadian. Signatories on the Accords. A few guys at the Pentagon still refuse to admit they exist. Two of them had their own suits that Tony's been dying to get his hands on." 

"Tell me about it," Sharon makes a face that's as much truth as playacting. Tony's reaction to the idea a _Canadian_ had designed a suit of his own had been hilarious. "Before everything went to hell with the Accords, he'd just started talking with Dr. Hudson, and that's actually part of why I bring them up." She bites her lip and hopes that Rhodey can read between the lines of what she's about to say next. "They've offered to help fill the ranks while you guys recruit for new members and—" she hesitates "—any other matters we might require their assistance on. Like a certain lost puppy of our acquaintance. " And, say, bringing down a rogue Secretary of State. Even with all the countermeasures in the world, she can't risk saying that the UN not only knows about this mess, but has offered help through Brian. 

Rhodey's read the Accords. He's seen the sections meant to protect signatories from mistreatment even from their home nations. She has to believe he'll remember that now. 

At least until they can arrange to be somewhere heavily shielded. 

Ross needs to believe he's gotten away with it. If he thinks, even for a second, that the UN knows, there's no chance he'll let Tony live.

A hand curls over hers and when she looks up, Rhodey's watching her. He smiles and, after a breath, she smiles back. "I think we can work with that," he says, and she closes her eyes in relief.

It's not much, not yet, but it's something. 

She just hopes, for Tony's sake, that it's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH! as I have noticed people starting to do. I do indeed have a [tumblr](http://medie.tumblr.com) should you wish to catch me procrastinating. :p


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are Canadians, so many Canadians, and Steve is very, very confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got jossed by Marvel before I even posted the chapter. How does _that_ happen? Seriously. I'd always known with this fic that the Prime Minister was going to have to come into it if Alpha Flight was involved. Then Marvel put Justin Trudeau into the freaking Civil War II. *headdesk* 
> 
> I laughed, I swore, I cackled at the Stardeau, and then I went back and rewrote the whole scene. I'm not comfortable writing RPF so I created a fictionalized version that is a blend of him and a previous Governor General of ours (Michaëlle Jean). So that happened.
> 
> As to the rest of it, I started thinking through how the SHIELD/Hydra debacle could've gone REALLY bad that influenced things a bit here as well. Steve, bless him, he's starting to come around. 
> 
> A reminder: just because the characters have the opinions doesn't mean I do. 
> 
> And don't worry about not really being familiar with the Alpha Flight series. I'm, er, MCU-ing them as I go.

In the end, they agree to go.

"Wanna see the look on his face when we haul his ass out of there," Sam says, but the satisfaction in his voice sounds hollow and unconvincing to Steve who gets it.

None of them have had much in the way of peace these past couple weeks. He hasn't heard anyone actually _admit it_ , but the haunted expressions and empty laughter have told the tale for them. Before, with everything, it was the right reasons. Wrong choices, wrong approach, but right intentions and the right reasons. It was enough to justify it.

This wasn't even anything close to that. This was personal. Petty. This was wrong and worse. This is something that's left him sick and on edge since that morning Friday had turned the world on its head.

No one says anything else while they're getting ready. They gear up in silence and head out into the pre-dawn Wakandan morning to find T'Challa waiting for them.

He isn't alone.

There's a jet with a maple leaf on it's tail and, standing beneath a wing, a small group of uniformed people.

T'Challa is with them and, when he moves, he reveals Sharon standing at his side.

The sick feeling that's been in Steve's gut for two weeks twists sharply, spreading through his limbs, and he stumbles to a stop.

"What the hell is Alpha Flight doing here?" Clint mumbles behind him. "Those guys never drop below the 49th parallel."

"Who's that?" Sam asks. "Never heard of them."

Scott surprises them all by laughing. "Try watching something other than the American news. They don't pop up a lot, but when they do, CNN isn't interested. Too bad. I kinda like the big furry guy."

"They're the Canadian us," Clint explains. "Fury thinks they've been around longer, actually, but hell if he could confirm it. He thinks they started up somewhere around when Stark got back from Afghanistan, but the Canadians aren't saying shit. Pretty sure if it hadn't been for the Chitauri invasion, they would've never even admitted Flight existed in the first place." He smirks. "Fury said they offered to help if we needed it. Apparently it's not polite to let your neighbours get wiped off the map."

"That still doesn't explain what they're doing here," Wanda murmurs, looking apprehensive.

"Nothing good," Scott says, and Steve knows without looking that he's being watched. "Not much short of the apocalypse is going to bring them this far from home."

"Not much," Steve agrees, quiet," Just Tony."

Sharon spots him then and the expression on her face...yeah, she got that one from Peggy.

" _You_...." she storms past T'Challa without hesitation. "This is where you've been? Ross has Tony and _this is where you've been_?"

She doesn't hit him. Doesn't even try. Steve's not that lucky. No, she just stops a few feet away from him, radiating rage, while the others fall in behind her.

All but T'Challa. No, the king takes a place at her side and, looking at him, Steve realizes something horrible.

"You've known this whole time."

"How could I not?" T'Challa asks. "When we identified the source of that transmission as being Iron Man's suit, Miss Friday and I had a most sobering conversation. In truth, Captain, I had thought this moment would have come long before now."

"You aren't the only one," Sharon spits. "I knew Friday would try to reach you, Tony never removed you from the protocol, but he's been gone for _weeks_. We've had people searching every moment from that night and I was sure that you were out there somewhere, but you've been here the whole goddamn time?"

"Oh, come on, Thirteen," Clint scoffs. "Tony's a big boy. He could do two weeks in the Raft standing on his head—"

" _He's not in the Raft_!" Sharon's coldly furious voice cuts through his comment and Clint immediately falls silent. "As far as we can tell he wasn't even there a day. Did you really think Ross would be stupid enough to leave _Tony Stark_ in a prison he could break out of that easily? There was never any chance he'd be held in the Raft."

Roaring fills Steve's ears, his chest going tight in a way it hasn't since before the serum, and he sways on his feet. "Then..."

"We have no idea where he is?" Sharon finishes, still glaring at them. "Yes, Captain, we have no idea where he is. After two weeks of solid searching,we have absolutely no idea as to where Secretary Ross is holding Tony Stark. Are we clear, Captain? Or would you like a full sitrep? Because on the whole of it? That's the _good news_."

"Agent Carter," T'Challa lays a hand on her arm. "Perhaps it might be better if we give the captain and his team a chance to absorb the information? You and your team have also travelled quite a long way. They need rest and refreshments before we continue on."

Sharon looks like she doesn't want to care about that, but then one of the Canadians—a cheerful looking woman with blue and green streaks in her hair—wraps an arm around Sharon's shoulders and squeezes. "Sounds like a plan to me. You should never throttle a man on an empty stomach, Carter. Just can't get the grip you want."

Something that might be a smile teases at Sharon's lips. "Any personal experience to back that one up?"

"Can't tell you. Classified. I spill and the government takes away my Tim's card. You have no idea what that is, but I promise you, it'd be a tragedy."

"I'll take your word for it," Sharon says before turning around and heading back to the plane.

Steve moves to follow before he really thinks it through, but he doesn't get far. The Canadian's in his path with one hand on his chest, her smile anything but friendly.

"I wouldn't if I were you, my son." She flexes her fingers and it's more than enough to push him back a step. "See, I had my Wheaties this morning and I don't much mind who you are when you put on the spangly pants."

He meets her eyes. "This isn't what I wanted, you have to believe that."

She drops her hand. "No, I don't, but you do." There's actually sympathy in her voice now. "Terrifying thing to realize we all have a monster in us, isn't it?"

It is. It really is.

He blinks and, for a single horrible second, it's Erskine standing before him instead. The shame cuts deeper than any recrimination that Sharon could have hurled.

"I don't know what to do now," he says, bleak. "I don't know how to fix this."

"Well, short of talking Walter into building you a time machine, I'd suggest trying to make up for lost time. Stark's out there somewhere." She nods at him, then offers T'Challa a more respectful one before turning to follow the path Sharon had taken.

"They are such an interesting group of people," T'Challa observes, closing the distance between him and Steve. "The Walter of whom Ms. Smallwood speaks is a Dr. Langowski. I am told he is a friend of your Dr. Banner." He smiles. "They share a similar condition."

"Fuck me," Clint breathes. "Banner wasn't kidding about the Sasquatch?"

"No, Mr. Barton, he was not." T'Challa looks at Steve. "As to their presence, Captain, there is more you need to know. I really do suggest that we move inside. While the airstrip is for my use only, I would prefer we were inside and away from potential prying eyes."

Steve nods. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I am not your conscience, Captain. Friday made it clear you had declined to assist." T'Challa sighs. "I very nearly had you removed on the spot, but I do not believe that Tony would want that."

It's not meant as a dig, but it hits like one anyway. "No," Steve agrees, quiet. "Probably not."

T'Challa nods, then turns to lead them into one of the nearby buildings. Steve follows largely on autopilot. He doesn't know what else to do. The ground feels like it's crumbling beneath and this isn't how any of this was supposed to go.

He looks for Sharon and the Canadian team, catches the way they look back and turn their heads.

It's worse when he pictures it through their eyes, if that's possible. The Avengers let one of their own in enemy hands. They turned their backs. They—Sam's hand lands on his shoulder, solid and grounding. It stills the chaos in Steve's head. He takes a breath, then another, and looks at him.

"I know," Sam says. "I _know_."

"I don't," Steve says, hollow. "I promised I'd be there. I _promised_."

Tony wouldn't have believed it anyway, he knows that. Tony wouldn't have believed it even if nothing had happened and doesn't that just make it so much worse?

When things were good (when he didn't know), he still wouldn't have expected the team to come for him.

Steve looks at them as they shuffle into a common room. Apparently, Tony'd understood more than even he knew.

It's not a thought that sits easily. Hopefully for any of them.

He sits down and the others cluster around them.

"You know this—" Clint gusts a breath. " _Fuck_."

"Yeah," Sam leans his head against the wall. "I'm no spy, but moving him like that—it's not about the Accords."

"No," Clint confirms. "Ross wanted to punish him, he would've left him in the Raft and shouted to the rooftops about it. Naw, you disappear somebody like this, you want time to get something out of him."

"People, Mr. Barton," T'Challa says, joining them. "We believe that Ross is attempting to extract the names and identities of powered individuals such as Spider-man from Mr. Stark. There are many such individuals active within many countries around the world. There are protections set out within the Accords for such people, but it would seem the United States has been...ignoring that. As Spider-man's involvement in our recent difficulties has indicated—"

"Stark knows how to find these people." Clint lifts his head. "He's hiding them? How does that square with his accountability shtick?"

"The two are not mutually exclusive. The Accords are directed toward accountability of paramilitary organizations like the Avengers and Alpha Flight. Most of the individuals that we refer to in this case are civilians operating on a domestic level as vigilantes and are, as such, governed by the laws of their own countries. Take, for example, the individual known as Daredevil in New York." T'Challa sits, putting himself at their level. "It was Tony's suggestion that we build protections into the Accords so they could not be used as a bludgeon to force these people into some sort of forced service."

"His Majesty is correct," a new voice interjects. "The Accords were effectively a balm for the public's fear, but we did insist they include legal protections and guarantees of human rights for signatories and those who chose retirement. In fact, Mr. Barton, it was Iron Man's report on the conditions of your incarceration which triggered those protections and, as such, our investigation."

T'Challa rises to greet her with a small smile. "Indeed. Captain Rogers, Avengers, allow me to introduce Heather Hudson."

"Otherwise known as Vindicator," Clint supplies. "Heard of you, not the investigation. Thought you were here looking for Stark?"

"Both," she replies. "As far as the United States and most of our own government knows, we are officially providing support to the Avengers while they are—" she smiles ruefully "—at diminished capacity due to recent difficulties. Our true assignment is first, and foremost, assisting Agent Thirteen in the rescue and recovery of Tony Stark, but that dovetails nicely into our secondary assignment; namely the investigation of potential violations of the Accords committed by the United States."

"With a goal of eventual prosecution?" Steve asks of her.

T'Challa is the one to answer, "Sanctions, most likely. Prosecution would be most difficult to achieve against anyone in leadership of a country so influential. Particularly since, at the time, the Accords had yet to be ratified by any country. It would be a technicality, of course, but a most helpful one on their part."

"One thing hotly debated in regards to the Accords has been their relationship to the United Nations and the signatories," Heather continues. "We're hoping to use this to justify a certain degree of independence for the council. Something akin to the International Atomic Energy Agency would be the most optimal goal."

Steve sits back. "And how long has this been in the planning? Tony never mentioned any of this."

T'Challa raises an eyebrow. "Was there a chance? As I understand the first real meeting you had on the matter, things devolved quickly and then you were called away. I do not believe you even finished your read through of them. After that—"

"Yeah," Steve sighs. "After that." He leans back against the wall, mirroring Sam's posture. "God, this is such a mess." He closes his eyes and sees the look on Tony's face. _'Don't bullshit me, Rogers, did you know?'_ "I don't regret having doubts about the Accords, but the rest of it—"

The rest of it he'll regret until his dying day.

Which, as soon as he tells the others what really happened in Siberia, might not be that far off.

*

Sharon can't stay in the room with them right now. She can't. She's just—she can't even look at him. Not right now, maybe not ever again, and she doesn't know what to do with this. "Keep an eye on them?" she asks of Heather. "I just need—"

Heather smiles. "Go on. We'll keep them from doing anything else ill-advised. At least, for now." She lays a hand on Sharon's shoulder. "In their defense—hindsight is the worst of all judges. We've made our share of spectacular fuckups as well."

"Nearly killed each other yet?" Sharon asks in disbelief. "I don't remember that one making the papers."

"With respect," which, Sharon's learning, is Canadian for 'ahahaha, not even fucking close', "a nuclear detonation could flatten Ottawa and it wouldn't even make CNN's ticker." Heather's smile turns smug when Sharon laughs. "But, yes, as a matter of fact, a few times that has happened. We've had screaming matches in the Prime Minister's office, disbanded the team once or twice, and yes, nearly killed each other a time or two as well...and that's not even taking into account the odd battle with mind control. It's why we wanted to push for some amendments to the Accords once the Avengers had signed on. Ours is a business where extremes become the daily norm. It's difficult for people outside of it to understand—even the ones closest to us."

"I don't know if I can accept that yet," Sharon looks back at them. "Not knowing what I know now."

"They made the wrong call," Heather agrees. "They know that. They made a deliberate choice to leave a teammate in trouble and they're going to have to live with that for the rest of their lives. This will have repercussions for the Avengers far beyond Mr. Stark in ways that they haven't even considered yet and I find the whole thing utterly _reprehensible_ , but I also understand where their minds were. We may have the power of the gods themselves, Agent Thirteen, but unfortunately, they don't come with the reasoning skills of such. We're still small, petty people at times." 

"Yeah, well, they picked a hell of a time," Sharon sighs, pushing a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry we dragged you into this."

"It's fine," Heather shrugs. "We probably should've gotten involved sooner. If we had--" she sighs. "Well, that's the mistake we have to live with."

"Hindsight," Sharon agrees. She turns to go, then looks back. "Thank you. For all of this." 

"Save it for when we find him," Heather says. "Until then, I don't think any of us would even consider accepting it."

"Maybe not, but it needed to be said."

She leaves then, pushing through the door and into the hallway. She's not sure where to go, but it doesn't really matter. She just needs to be somewhere Steve and the others aren't. At least, until she has a chance to get the anger under control. 

Assuming she _can_.

It's fear driving the anger, she knows that. If Tony were here, safe, she'd probably be advocating for Steve with him. Heather's right. Sharon may find the whole thing reprehensible right now, but she can see where Steve went wrong. She understands what he was trying to do. Hell, she _helped him do it_. She understands. She can even guess at the points where he thought he was protecting Tony. She knows that logically...

But fuck logic. Her friend, her _family_ , is out there somewhere in enemy hands and the longer he stays there the worse his chances get. 

Because, even without the weight of the Avengers backing him, Tony is the man behind one of the biggest companies in the world, with the kind of friends and political allies that position affords him. 

He can do _damage_.

Neutralizing him puts an awful lot of powerful people on notice and Sharon can't help thinking that might be part of this.

"Agent Thirteen, my apologies, but there is a call for you. If you'll just come with me?" 

The young man leads Sharon into a conference room and closes the door behind her. It's a minute, maybe two, then the screen on the far wall lights up and, after a second's descrambling, a woman's face appears. 

It's a face she recognizes, though they've never met. Sharon blinks. "Hello?"

The woman ducks her head for a second, fighting back a grin. "I know," she says, when she looks up, "I'm the last person you expected to see."

"Actually, that would be Secretary Ross, but I admit, the Prime Minister of Canada is definitely fairly far down on the list," Sharon moves closer, resting a hand on the back of one of conference table's chairs. "If this is about Alpha Flight, then first let me thank you for allowing them to take this mission. They've been invaluable and I know you had to bend the rules a little to do this."

"Well, only after a fashion. One of the perks of the job is being able to ask Alpha Flight for favours. I'm glad they've been of help." Prime Minister Alexandre's smile fades. "The reason I wanted to speak with you is, well," she gestures awkwardly, "Tony's been a friend as long as I can remember and I can't just sit here." 

A lot falls into place with that particular revelation. Sharon narrows her eyes thoughtfully. "You're who he's been talking to about the Accords. Tony said he had an old friend who knew her way around this stuff."

The Prime Minister schools her expression into one of bland innocence. Or, rather, she tries. There's just a glint of mischief peaking through her expression. "I'm sure he must." She hold it for a second, then sighs. "Let me check something." 

Sharon waits as she pulls a tablet closer to her, reading the screen before nodding in satisfaction. 

"Sorry," the Prime Minister smiles. "Just wanted to be sure no one was attempting to monitor this transmission. I'm sure you understand. While I certainly trust the Wakandans--"

"Too many variables and too much risk not to verify," Sharon agrees, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the conference table. "Unfortunately I understand far too well." The risk she's taking even coming here is no small thing and, worse, it's Tony's life she's risking, not her own. 

"So, officially, my hands are tied. I may be the leader of my country, but in terms of political influence? This is still very much a David and Goliath situation."

It's not anything surprising and the frustration is evident in Prime Minister Alexandre's expression. Sharon knows that feeling. She also knows there are a dozen different ways that the President could retaliate against Canada that would do serious damage and never even get near a military option. 

Still… "As I recall, ma'am, David was pretty good at throwing stones. I'm sure we might be able to find a few lying around." In fact, the idea is looking more appealing by the second.

"You apprehend the situation, Agent," the Prime Minister sits back in her chair. "I have G20 meetings coming up. I think I'll extend an offer of support to the President. Canada has always enjoyed a strong working relationship with Stark Industries. We'd certainly be interested in assisting in the search for Anthony Stark."

Sharon raises her eyebrows. "You're going to force them into admitting he's missing?"

Prime Minister Alexandre grins. "I like to box. Did anyone tell you that? My mother was prime minister when I was growing up and one of my RCMP guards taught me how. These days, my sparring partner has been an old friend from the US. While we've never publicized the fact, we do have a standing date every week. He's missed the last two and that isn't like Tony at all. In fact, short of a near miss with an apocalypse, the last time he actually didn't show up without calling was when he was taken in Afghanistan." 

Behind Sharon, the door opens and they both look to see T'Challa walk in the door. The King nods at them both. "Agent, Madam Prime Minister...it is good to see you again, Naomie. Would that it were under better circumstances."

"Indeed," the Prime Minister agrees. "We were just discussing certain strategies in regards to our missing mechanic and, well, the other thorn in our flesh." 

"Ah, excellent," T'Challa closes the door behind him. "I am almost certain at this point that the United States never did intend to hold to the Accords whatever form their content ended up taking."

"God, I hate it when you're right about something," the Prime Minister sighs with a familiarity that's surprising. "I'm never going to hear the end of that am I?"

Sharon looks from one to the other. "You two--"

"Officially, Wakanda has had next to no contact with anyone in centuries," T'Challa shrugs. "Unofficially, a Wakandan plane once crashed in the Canadian Northwest Territories. They were most respectful in their conduct during the matter. My father was king then and decided to risk opening dialogue with the Prime Minister."

"Who was my mother," Alexandre adds, "It was never an official attempt at diplomacy. Merely an attempt at testing the waters that turned into a friendship of sorts."

"Wakanda is not particularly well-liked amongst our neighbours," T'Challa says on a sigh. "Our friends and allies in this region are few. Our decision to close our borders so many years ago was not well-received. My father thought it most fortuitous that Naomie was elected to office at the very time he was considering re-opening them. It is good to have a friend at the table." 

"And considering the current political situation in regards to the Accords," Prime Minister Alexandre smiles at T'Challa. "It's easier knowing I have at least one person at the table that I can trust." 

"Do you think there are others we can feel out on this matter?" he inquires, tipping his head. "Germany, perhaps?"

"Oh, quite likely," she agrees. "The Chancellor is furious at the liberties that Ross took. He had no business and no authority to be ordering troops around like that." Her smile is small and grim, but accomplished in a way that Sharon envies. "I've talked them into holding off for now."

"Better to hold our fire until we are able to concentrate it," T'Challa agrees.

"When we find Tony," Sharon says, looking from one to the other. "Right?"

"Yes, absolutely, that's the plan," Prime Minister Alexandre nods. "He's our star witness. We need to put a face to what they've done and I can think of no better." 

"Indeed. What Tony knows could very well be the leverage we need against Secretary Ross. If we move before he's safe--" T'Challa pauses and they all know what he's thinking.

If they move before then, they won't get him back. Not alive.

"Not happening," Sharon snaps in unison with the Prime Minister.

T'Challa looks at them and surprises them both by laughing. "Forgive me," he says, at last, "I do not mean to offend, but the picture you paint is a formidable one indeed. I can but hope to inspire such loyalty in my friends."

"I think you may already," Alexandre replies before focusing on Sharon. "I shouldn't keep you any longer. You should rest. You've a long journey ahead of you yet."

To where no one really knows, but Sharon doesn't have the energy to consider it right now. The Prime Minister's right about needing to rest, but she can't. Not yet. Not until they have an idea of where to even _start_. 

Not that she's going to point that out right now. Instead, she smiles and nods. "Hopefully not as long as we fear, but yes, I probably should." 

"We have another matter that needs discussing, your Majesty," Prime Minister Alexandre says, her eyes going to T'Challa, "but it's somewhat sensitive."

T'Challa takes a seat at the table. "I believe I know the one that you mean." He looks at Sharon. "If you'll excuse us?"

She smiles and nods at them as she takes her leave. It's not until she steps outside the door that she can really feel the tension sitting on her shoulders. She looks at the Dora Milaje waiting on either side of her, the one across the hall, and really gets how _surreal_ this is.

Kings, prime ministers, and superheroes on every side. 

She shakes her head. "How is this my life?"

She knows she must look ridiculous, to their credit, the Dora Milaje don't even crack a smile. 

*

When Sharon doesn't come back, Steve decides to go looking for her. It's probably a mistake, he knows that, but he just can't leave things the way they are. He might not be sure of where things stand with them anymore, but he can guess and, well, he has to respect her choice, but he can at least be clear about things with her, right?

He finally tracks her down on one of the balconies. It's a small little thing in the corner of one of the towers. She's sitting on a bench, her jacket beside her, staring out at the horizon, every line of her body tense in a way that screams she's aware of his presence.

He debates what he should say, how he should start this, but all he can come up with is a fumbled, "Funny, you never mentioned knowing Tony."

The look he gets in response is venomous at first, but then she sighs deeply and shakes her head. When she looks at him again, it's clear-eyed and calm, but he's not even slightly fooled. She has it under control, but she hasn't forgiven a thing. "To be fair, I never mentioned a lot more than Tony. It's just habit at this point for most of us, me especially. It's not easy being a Legacy in SHIELD, but having the founders as your godfather and great-aunt...becoming Agent Thirteen was a welcome escape."

He's heard that word before—Legacy. It doesn't take much guesswork to figure out what it means. He thinks about that and wonders how many of his friends' grandchildren he might've put in the line of fire when SHIELD fell.

Sharon looks at him. "Don't bother feeling guilty. We can take care of ourselves." A small, fond smile works it's way past the anger. "And where we can't, well, we have Tony. He does everything from make our gear to sending suits in after us if we need it. I still have no idea how he managed to pull Trip out of that mess in South America. He wouldn't tell any of us."

"Or me, apparently." Steve says, struck by the things she's not telling him even more than the things she is. There's a world in those spaces. "He was doing all of this right under my nose and I had no idea."

Her gaze sharpens. "You can hardly throw stones on that one." 

He blinks. "You—"

"I was with Libby Dugan when he got back from Siberia. She's Tony's personal physician and he needed her help to patch him up. You should probably avoid all things Dugan for a while. She's spent a lot of time and a lot of effort keeping him alive and they've had to listen to her ranting since then. They don't really like you right now." 

"That's fair, I don't really like me right now," Steve sits down and stares at the floor. "How badly did I—"

"Bad." Sharon folds her arms. "Don't worry, though, you had help. Maximoff dropping a few dozen cars on him definitely didn't help matters." Steve watches as she takes a deep breath and thinks he should probably do the same. The panic of earlier is beginning to creep back in, curling around the edges of his awareness like phantom fingers and it's been a long time since he had an asthma attack, but it's as though he can feel it on the horizon now. "It's why we're so frantic. Tony's health has taken one hit after another since Afghanistan and he hasn't really taken a moment to let it settle. There's a point where the human body just _can't_ anymore."

Steve closes his eyes. "Meaning what, exactly?" As if he doesn't know already. As if he isn't already picturing the thousand and one ways Ross can… he blinks and looks at the sky. No. He can't. He can't think that right now. 

"Meaning we both know that Tony doesn't cooperate easily with people he _likes_ ," Sharon turns to look at him. "They want information out of him then they'll have to torture him and he won't give in easily. They'll have to really work for it and Libby's not sure how much he can take before his heart—"

Blood roars in Steve's ears and he pushes himself up onto his feet. He leans on the balcony wall, looking out at Wakanda, but all he sees is Tony, bruised and bloody, hands raised, flinching away from the death blow he'd expected Steve to deliver.

"God," he breathes out, "What have I done?"

"I don't think I should answer that," Sharon says, coming to stand beside him. "I don't think I'd be fair about it right now."

"I don't think I deserve fair." Steve looks at his hands. "I—I don't know how I got here. I don't. I—almost _killed him_. I kept telling myself I was just trying to protect Bucky until we could fix the whole damn thing. Stop the Soldiers, maybe work around the Accords somehow, and then we were in Siberia—"

He thinks about the letter and his promise. "Zemo's whole goddamn plan hinged on me not telling Tony the truth. If I'd just sat down and _told him_ then maybe this mess wouldn't have even happened."

Sharon doesn't say anything to that. What can she say? He's right and they both know it. Zemo gambled on him keeping the secret. The whole thing _hinged_ on it. With one conversation two years ago, he could have changed all of this.

"Well, unless you have a time machine, there's not much point in beating yourself up. You can't change it. You can't undo it. Wallowing doesn't fix anything." Sharon sighs heavily. "I know what you could do, but you won't."

"I can't sign, Sharon," Steve says, reflexive. "I can't."

"That's not what I meant!" Sharon shakes her head. "But, all right, since you went there. After everything you've heard today, after everything that's happened, you won't even _consider_ it?"

"Nothing's changed, Sharon. Not with the Accords." But even as he says it, Steve isn't _sure_. Not anymore. He's not sure it was ever about the Accords and that doubt makes his gut churn. It makes him think of the others, of Tony, of _Rhodes_ , and he swallows hard against the bile threatening to rise.

" _Everything has changed_ ," she snaps out. "Did you not miss the part where there is a team here _investigating what Ross did_? God. It's not just a hundred and seventeen countries anymore, Steve. After Germany? They're signing up by the _legion_."

"You agreed with me before." The words come out hoarser than he'd intended, but Sharon barely seems to notice. Which, all things considered, is a perfect encapsulation of the whole goddamn mess. How much did they all miss because they just couldn't hear what they were really trying to say?

"Why? Because I helped you? Because I _kissed you_?" Sharon laughs and it's hurt, angry, and nothing he ever wanted to hear from her. "We all made our mistakes, Steve. Safe to say that was one of mine." She folds her arms and leans against the balcony and stares away from him for a long time. He doesn't know what she's thinking and he's not sure he wants to know, but he waits. Whatever else happens or doesn't happen, he owes her this much. "I know there was a lot Tony didn't tell you, a lot that he _should_ have told you, but have you ever considered the idea that some of it, he _couldn't_." 

There's something other than anger in her eyes when she says that. Like she's trying to will some kind of understanding into his head.

"This isn't just about the Avengers. None of it ever was. Did you ever read the reports after SHIELD fell? I didn't. Not at first. Not my problem, but then after Germany and everything, I started looking. Do you realize who started the initial push for accountability? The governments that started negotiating the Accords? Most of them were the ones who took casualties that day. SHIELD had facilities all over the world and there was fighting _in all of them_. There was a firefight in _MI5_. They gave you the DC casualty list, Steve, but did Ross show you that? Do you know how many of these governments lost people because of what happened? How many missions were compromised because agents started killing each other in the middle of it?" 

"No," Steve admits, "I don't."

"Yeah, well, before you reject the Accords again, maybe you should sit down and actually _listen to people_. Because I don't think MI5, CSIS, or Interpol would agree with your hands being the safest."

She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and then meets his gaze. "Please don't misunderstand me. I don't think you were wrong to distrust the people involved in the Accords, I don't, but rejecting the whole thing out of hand? You need to think long and hard about whether all of this is worth it, because the funny thing about the price of freedom is that it's never the guy giving the speech that pays it." 

Steve closes his eyes and, this time, it's Bucky and Tony both that he sees. "I don't know what to do anymore. I thought I did, but--"

"None of us know. Not for sure. We make a decision and hope for the best. If it goes bad...we try and fix it." Sharon pushes away from the balcony, walking for the door. "Assuming, that is, we get the chance. I don't think you have many left, Steve. So, I'll ask again. Was it worth it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH! as I have noticed people starting to do. I do indeed have a [tumblr](http://medie.tumblr.com) should you wish to catch me procrastinating. :p

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory cacw disclaimer. The opinions in this story belong to the characters spouting them. I love everybody in this bar. 
> 
> Well, except for Zemo and Ross. Those two are definitely dicks.


End file.
